Thomas and Mary

by Tim Parks

  ‘I’m just holding a voice recorder. But for your information, no one else has asked me these questions so far. I mean, most interviews were over in about five to ten minutes. No one else seemed worried about the reasoning behind it.’

  ‘Maybe the research is to find out how you respond when someone asks these questions.’

  ‘That’s fine by me. I’m paid by the hour.’

  ‘How come? I would have thought by the number of interviews.’

  ‘They seemed eager for long interviews, so they’re not going to encourage us to keep them short.’

  ‘But how would they know how many hours you really worked?’

  ‘They have the recordings.’

  ‘Right. You’re recording.’

  ‘It’s anonymous.’

  ‘A voice isn’t anonymous, though, is it? If someone wanted to identify me.’

  ‘You’ve hardly said anything that could be awkward for you.’

  ‘That’s not the point.’

  ‘I’m sorry you feel this way. Do you want to close, then, with the case of missing someone who hasn’t changed, or shall I turn it off?’

  ‘This is a bit crazy, but, okay, my wife if you want to know. My ex-wife.’

  ‘Didn’t you say you were married?’

  ‘I’m separated.’

  ‘Ah. I’m sorry.’

  ‘No need to be. I’m not.’

  ‘Ah, that’s good. You did say you were married, though, earlier on, didn’t you? Yes.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s part of the missing. It’s an easy answer to give. As if nothing had changed. And a separated person is theoretically still married. Legally.’

  ‘But something has changed.’

  ‘Right. And not my wife – that is, the person missed – in this case. In fact that was the problem, probably. I changed, or life’s circumstances changed. Not her. Maybe even a simple question of age. Which actually is not that simple.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘Evidently not.’

  ‘You don’t want to say a word more about the nature of the change? In this case?’

  ‘They didn’t choose the interviewees on the basis of who was divorced?’

  ‘I have no idea how they were chosen. Anyway you said you were separated, not divorced. I just know that you were sent an email and agreed to give a few minutes.’

  ‘Almost fifteen, if I’m not mistaken.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll turn off. Unless you’d just like to say a word more about the circumstances.’

  ‘One lives with someone for many years, through good times and bad. Decades. One changes town and job together, brings up children. One appreciates that the marriage has fallen apart, that there is a whole area of the relationship you simply can’t deal with, and yet there’s also a functioning routine: in the end you’re constantly obliged to be close to that person, and there are still rare moments of fun. Finally it’s all too much and you leave. You feel if you don’t break out of this stalemate it will kill you. But having left, you inevitably miss this person. Leaving doesn’t solve everything in a flash. Simply, they are so intensely connected with your life. You miss them, and you miss them as they are now. They haven’t changed. At all. But you don’t want to see them, because it would only be painful to them and confusing to you. In fact you feel it would be extremely unwise to see them. Intensity? Considerable. I mean you really don’t want to see them. Feelings of guilt and so on. Revival of an impossible dilemma.’

  ‘Thank you. That’s a very full reply.’

  ‘God. I need a drink. You’ve turned off the recorder?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Want to come along?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Would you like a drink? I feel a little upset. Thinking about that stuff.’

  ‘Ah. I’m sorry. Thanks. I’m afraid I have a few more interviews, though. I mean, I have to make my quota.’

  ‘You’re a good interviewer. I can’t imagine many people who would have coaxed that out of me.’

  ‘Why, thank you.’

  ‘On a scale of one to ten I’d give you … nine.’

  ‘Not ten?’

  ‘Maybe after a drink.’

  ‘Sorry, I really can’t.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Deborah.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Deborah. I’m Thomas.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Some other time, then.’

  ‘You’re really asking me out for a drink?’

  ‘Is it illegal?’

  ‘Maybe dangerous.’

  ‘On a scale of one to ten?’

  ‘I suppose I’ll only know that if I accept.’

  CONCRETE

  Maturity. The contentment of older couples. He puts the cat out while she stirs the camomile tea. Each knows which part of the paper the other wants, whose feet will be cold when. The ripened fruit in the familiar basket, the leaves to be gathered from the lawn. Winter trips to warmer climes, brightly wrapped presents for grandchildren. Accumulation, sedimentation. Her dying mother, his sister’s motor neuron. The real more real every day. The sofa shaped to their two backs. The gentle scratching of her nails on his nape. He takes her calloused feet in mottled hands. Smiles through cataracts and a healthier diet. A yearly pact to rearrange the photographs. Why wasn’t that our destiny? Thomas wonders. Thomas wonders how to deal with a past of erosion and unravelling. How to tell a story that is quicksand? He goes over the facts with his analyst. He goes over them again. She is paid not to be weary of it, he thinks. He goes over them again. She nods, she interprets, she interjects, objects, suggests, shakes her head. He goes over them again. They won’t stay still. His wife won’t stay still. His ex-wife, XYZ wife. I’m obliged to learn a new language, Thomas thinks, to speak in a different tongue. Thomas thinks his analyst is too sympathetic, too patient. In the end it was he who undid it all, he insists. ‘It was my fault.’ He explains his attraction to stone hearths, to the business of lighting fires, the pleasure of arranging the logs, watching the flames catch. He explains how much he loved gardening. He loved putting the bulbs in, pulling the weeds out. I’m getting nowhere. Fullness, repletion, plenitude, satiety, roundness, sagacity, serenity. These words plague him. The unquiet ghost. Me now. Exact opposite of the imperturbable patriarch. The haunting, obsessive return, without repose, neither here nor there, without burial.

  ‘You want to be buried?’ his analyst enquires. ‘Alive?’

  Thomas goes back to his rented bedsit and cooks vegetable biryani with his girlfriend. Afterwards, she feels they rather overdid it with the black pepper.

  MARTHA AND EDWARD

  ‘Is that you? Edward?’

  ‘Martha!’

  ‘So it’s true! Praise the Lord! All true. Even the streets of gold!’

  ‘Purest gold.’

  ‘ “As it were transparent glass …” Revelation 21:21.’

  ‘My Bible girl! I’ve got you back.’

  ‘Hallelujah! It really is all true!’

  ‘Martha dear! Did you doubt it?’

  ‘Oh, Edward, I did. Yes, at the end I’m afraid I did, a bit. It was so horrible, I was so sick. Everything was so heavy and dark, the room spinning. I feel I’m waking up from a nightmare.’

  ‘Poor Martha. But how marvellous to see you again.’

  ‘Edward?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I wish I could see you.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘I mean, how did you know it was me? I … There must be so many …’

  ‘You just sense it, dear. Then it was time for you to come. Who knows how these things work? You knew it was me, didn’t you?’

  ‘At once, yes. But without … without really seeing anything. I mean, much.’

  ‘We left our bodies on earth, dear. And mine’s been burned to bits, of course.’

  ‘I sprinkled you in the river.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I sprinkled your ashes in the river, Edward.�
�

  ‘Did you? Did you really? How … Indian. I thought we’d agreed on a rose tree. In the North London Crem memorial garden.’

  ‘I changed my mind. I mean, it seemed more beautiful in the river, where we used to walk and you loved to row. Oh, Edward. It’s all true! It’s like Christmas. And I feel no pain. I was in such pain. It was killing me. Silly, it did kill me. Can we hug?’

  ‘Martha, love!’

  ‘Can’t we?’

  ‘You’ll have to get used to how it is here. See, people just drift through each other. We have no substance now.’

  ‘Through each other?’

  ‘By the gateway, look – there, with the sapphires. That group coming out.’

  ‘How peculiar. Just coloured air. A sort of brightness.’

  ‘If you like, we can occupy the same space. Let me. There! We’re one inside the other now. Superimposed. We’re absolutely together. Like we never were before.’

  ‘I can’t feel anything, though.’

  ‘We don’t have feeling, Martha. You think it. It’s a thought. We’re one inside the other. Enjoy that thought, in your mind.’

  ‘You were the thinker, Edward dear. Not me. It does seem a shame, though, after thirty years, not to hug.’

  ‘Everybody says that, at first. Then you get used to being all spirit.’

  ‘We can talk, though. Thank heavens for that.’

  ‘Actually, we intuit each other’s thoughts.’

  ‘Ah. You’re right. I knew something was odd. I’m not actually hearing you. Oh, Edward. What a huge relief to find you here and to know it’s true. There were moments … Oh dear. I haven’t quite got over it yet. Thomas was squeezing my hand, the last day, you know, while I was dying, and every squeeze told me he thought I’d soon just be dead. I’d be nothing. A lump of senseless flesh. That was what was upsetting him, bless him. But it didn’t help me with my faith.’

  ‘Thomas has done quite well for himself, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Oh, all right. I suppose. He has a good job. Seems he’s quite a whizz. But his marriage failed, you know, poor thing.’

  ‘Ah. And that was the very last wedding I celebrated. What a shame!’

  ‘And he won’t be coming to heaven either, will he, love, if it’s all true? We won’t ever see him again.’

  ‘No, dear, I’m afraid not. Nor Jim.’

  ‘But doesn’t it grieve you, Edward? Two sons. Both lost. Oh, it takes all the shine off it.’

  ‘I’ve got used to the thought now, Martha. What can you do? Jim was always such a cussed boy. He always had to have the last word.’

  ‘He didn’t come to see me at the end. I suppose it was a terribly long trip to make at short notice. Oh, Edward.’

  ‘What is it? Martha, what is it? What’s the matter?’

  ‘I want to cry and I can’t. The tears won’t come.’

  ‘No, dear.’

  ‘Don’t tell me we can’t cry.’

  ‘You need a body to cry, love.’

  ‘How silly. I spent half my life trying not to cry and now I can’t. Poor Jim. Poor Thomas. If only we could have proved to them all this existed.’

  ‘It is extraordinary, isn’t it? The walls of jasper. The gates of pearl. And it goes on for ever, you know. You can just keep breezing along for ever. And the light is always astonishing. Always the same. It’s the glory of the Lord. It never stops.’

  ‘ “And the foundations of the wall of the city were garnished with all manner of precious stones.” Revelation 21:19.’

  ‘Martha! How funny having you with me again. Nobody quotes the Bible here, though, you know. No one reads it.’

  ‘Oh, really? I thought we’d be reading Scripture all day long.’

  ‘There are no days! Or nights. No sleep and no waking. The fact is we just don’t need it now – do we? – once we’ve got here. There wouldn’t be any point. Actually, I’m not sure there are any bibles. Or any doctrine. I mean, I always thought when I got here I’d finally understand the Trinity and so on, except it just doesn’t seem to matter any more. Nobody discusses it. No one writes. No one reads at all. Martha! Please. Don’t be upset. You could hardly imagine what it would be like when you were back on earth, could you? Nobody could. Come on, now. Tell me which part of the river you sprinkled my ashes in.’

  ‘Kew Bridge.’

  ‘Ah. Kew. Looking towards Strand-on-the-Green? Or Brentford?’

  ‘Strand-on-the-Green, of course. The Steam Packet. Though there was a silly breeze blowing the wrong way. You kept coming back in my face in gritty bits.’

  ‘To think I’ve been telling people I was in North London Crem. I wonder what they’ll do with yours?’

  ‘My ashes are going in the vicarage garden. At Whitton. It’s a lovely place.’

  ‘You think! I thought I knew where mine were going. But no doubt Elaine will tell us in due course. Elaine will definitely join us. At least one child. Nothing could shake her faith. Then we’ll be a family again.’

  ‘It just won’t feel right without the boys, Edward.’

  ‘We did our best. What else could we have done?’

  ‘It’s true. We prayed and preached and wrestled with their hearts. The truth is, Satan had them in his grip.’

  ‘Satan.’

  ‘What is it, dear?’

  ‘I haven’t heard anyone mention him for ages. I suppose the struggle is far behind us here. One forgets.’

  ‘Edward! From the sound of your voice, if you had a face, you’d be smiling. Oh, I remember your dear face so clearly. What is it?’

  ‘I was thinking I almost missed him, Martha.’

  ‘Who? James?’

  ‘No, Satan. It was so exciting, wasn’t it? When we did the exorcisms. When the devils squealed and ran.’

  ‘Do be careful, love. Isn’t that sacrilege?’

  ‘It’s the truth. It was exciting.’

  ‘Yes. I suppose it was. I never thought of it like that. Oh, I can hear singing, Edward. “Great and marvellous are thy works, Lord God Almighty; just and true are thy ways, thou King of saints.” Where are they? Let’s join in. Let’s give thanks for being reunited. I want to see the Lamb of God.’

  ‘Those are angel voices, Martha.’

  ‘Oh, but they’re so beautiful. So perfect. I could listen to them for ever.’

  ‘You will. You will.’

  ‘Let’s go and join in. Edward? Come on.’

  ‘I’m afraid we can’t sing, love.’

  ‘Because we don’t have bodies.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘But what do we do, then? Oh, I’m sorry, it’s just I’m feeling a bit lost.’

  ‘It’s hard to explain. We just, sort of, are, Martha. We go into a trance, of adoration of the Lord. We are one with Him, with this brilliant light and the glory all around us. It really is very beautiful, once you’ve settled in.’

  ‘ “Then shall the righteous shine forth as the sun in the kingdom of their Father.” Matthew 13:43.’

  ‘Right. Sort of. It’s like an endless beatitude. Time just flies. If it is time. Absorbed in the light. It’s only when someone from the past arrives that you’re disturbed a bit. For a little while.’

  ‘Disturbed?’

  ‘You start remembering things. Details. Then you colour the air, just a little bit. Stain it, I suppose. Otherwise we’re quite transparent. Oh, Martha! Don’t worry! The Lord has everything under control. Promise.’

  ‘You sound like Elaine now. She kept saying that while I was dying. Except it didn’t feel as if He had.’

  ‘Dear Elaine.’

  ‘Well, no doubt I shall get used to it. I suppose I’m just a bit miffed we can’t have a hug.’

  ‘Martha.’

  ‘Remember our Saturday morning lie-ins?’

  ‘I do, dear. I do.’

  ‘And the hot baths on winter afternoons? With tea and scones afterwards. They had quite nice scones in the hospice, come to think of it. Just I was too ill to enjoy more than a crumb
or two. I presume we don’t eat here, then, Edward? There are no set times for anything. Or sleep?’

  ‘No. Martha, we don’t. But remember, we will get our bodies back one day.’

  ‘Of course. On Judgement Day.’

  ‘When the world ends and the dead rise from their graves.’

  ‘Or out of the river.’

  ‘Right. All those bits of ash from Hammersmith and Chelsea and Greenwich, and miles out to sea.’

  ‘Remember when we visited the Isle of Dogs?’

  ‘And Gravesend!’

  ‘Edward! You never could resist a pun, could you?’

  ‘So, you see, Martha, we do have something to look forward to.’

  THE SECOND MRS P

  ‘I wonder if the second Mrs P will have such big breasts,’ Mary said.

  Or she said: ‘That definitely looks more like the third Mrs P than the second.’

  A tall slim adolescent was walking by. Thomas hadn’t noticed till his wife spoke. These were the early days of their marriage. It was a joke.

  Now, with hindsight, he wondered if she hadn’t always foreseen the end. Or if by mentioning the possibility, light-heartedly, she meant to prevent him from going where she imagined all men wanted to go, even though at the time no such notion had occurred to him. He was too busy being married and starting a family and pushing forward his career.

  ‘I wonder if the second Mrs P will have dreadlocks,’ Mary laughed. ‘Or a tongue-piercing.’

  ‘Oh, I doubt if she is born yet,’ he said, joining in the fun.

  And in the end, of course, this had turned out to be the case. What will Mary think when she finally finds out? Thomas wondered, boarding the train that will take him to a home that is home no more.

  Looking out of the window at the familiar landscape, Thomas reflected that he had commuted too long between the old life and the new. Was that cruel of him, or just inept? And on her part? Was it cruel of her to tease him with second Mrs Ps, to let him have such a long leash, but nevertheless insist it was a leash? Had that been smart? Perhaps the truth was they had both somehow come to have a double narrative of their marriage: they would continue man and wife into ripe old age; they would sink and split. Both stories had felt true. Logically, they were mutually exclusive, but that didn’t stop them believing in both. Like knowing you will die but living as though you are immortal.